POTINS 32

The bedroom curtains were drawn, and no lights were on—only a faint glow filtered in from the living room.

Meng Chuan had turned Wen Zhongyi’s wardrobe into a mess. Clothes were scattered all over the bed, and like a bird building its nest, he had piled them up into a makeshift den for himself.

Shirtless, he curled up in the heap of Wen Zhongyi’s clothes, the muscles on his back sharply defined.

The room was thick with the mingled scent of pheromones. Wen Zhongyi even noticed a pair of clean underwear he had kept in the wardrobe, now pulled out and pressed beneath Meng Chuan’s body.

At the sound of the door opening, Meng Chuan lifted his eyelids. When he saw it was Wen Zhongyi, a look of dependence and grievance crossed his face. “Why’d you come back so late…”

A faint flush from his lingering fever still colored his face, lacking his usual arrogant, cocky demeanor.

Alphas in heat became extremely attached to their partner’s pheromones—clingy and sensitive. Meng Chuan was no exception.

He gazed longingly at Wen Zhongyi, hoping he’d come closer and offer some comfort.

But Wen Zhongyi didn’t give him a kind look.

With a sharp click, he turned on the overhead light. The sudden brightness made him squint involuntarily.

Then he strode to the bed, yanked the underwear from under Meng Chuan, his ears tinged red. Flustered and annoyed, he smacked Meng Chuan’s back. “You’re such a bastard!”

As soon as he approached, that strong rose-scented pheromone became overwhelmingly intense. Even while being hit, Meng Chuan looked delighted. He clung to Wen Zhongyi’s hand and rubbed against it like he was seeking affection. “I didn’t do it on purpose.”

“Get off.” Wen Zhongyi flung his hand away and folded the underwear neatly back into the wardrobe.

Meng Chuan buried his face once more into the pile of clothes, unconsciously releasing a flood of pheromones so strong that Wen Zhongyi began to feel a bit overheated himself.

He didn’t want to get too close to Meng Chuan, but he couldn’t bear to leave him suffering either. Letting out a breath, he walked over again and reached out to feel Meng Chuan’s forehead. “Did you take fever meds?”

“I did,” Meng Chuan murmured.

The medicine could lower his temperature, but it couldn’t rid his body of the unbearable agitation. Instinctively, he reached for Wen Zhongyi’s hand—but grabbed at nothing.

Head drooping, he looked dejected. “Not even allowed to hold your hand? You’re so stingy.”

Wen Zhongyi tucked his hands behind his back. “I’m afraid of getting bitten.”

“I won’t bite you,” Meng Chuan said, staring straight at him.

“I don’t believe you,” Wen Zhongyi replied flatly.

Meng Chuan looked defeated. He pressed his face deeper into Wen Zhongyi’s clothes. His hair was a disheveled mess, muscles taut under the light, radiating an inescapable sense of strength.

As his body burned with unrest, a tangle of fragmented memories surged through Meng Chuan’s mind.

A warm, yielding body; a shirt collar yanked open; lips glistening with moisture; breathless gasps caught in a throat—

He couldn’t make out the face beneath him, but he knew it was Wen Zhongyi.

The scenes flashed through his mind like a flickering reel. His breathing grew heavy. He flipped onto his back, chest rising and falling, then hoarsely said, “You didn’t treat me like this the last time I was in heat.”

Wen Zhongyi was momentarily speechless and lowered his head to meet his eyes.

Meng Chuan’s gaze was dim, holding an emotion hard to name.

Wen Zhongyi wasn’t sure if he was just rambling or actually starting to remember. After a moment’s hesitation, he reached out and gently covered Meng Chuan’s eyes.

With the harsh light blocked, Meng Chuan couldn’t see Wen Zhongyi’s face. He reached for his hand again, and this time, Wen Zhongyi didn’t pull away.

“No biting,” Wen Zhongyi warned.

“I won’t,” Meng Chuan replied.

He pressed Wen Zhongyi’s hand to his lips. The moment Wen Zhongyi tried to pull away, Meng Chuan instinctively opened his mouth and gently took in the tip of his index finger.

Wen Zhongyi’s breath caught.

He could clearly feel the warmth of Meng Chuan’s mouth enveloping his fingertip. True to his word, Meng Chuan didn’t bite—his teeth barely brushed the skin, and his tongue stirred a ticklish heat that made Wen Zhongyi’s heartbeat quicken.

He tried to pull back, but Meng Chuan held his wrist tightly.

“What are you doing?” Wen Zhongyi’s voice trembled slightly.

Meng Chuan kissed his fingertip before answering, still gripping his hand. “Will you lie here with me?”

“…No.”

“Why not?”

“No reason.”

“But you used to. Why not now?”

“…”

“Is it because you don’t like the current me?” Meng Chuan pressed on, as if he needed an answer from Wen Zhongyi’s mouth.

Wen Zhongyi looked away, heart softening—this side of Meng Chuan was hard to resist.

Before he could decide what to say, Meng Chuan drew his hand back and took Wen Zhongyi’s ring finger into his mouth this time.

Meng Chuan always had a way of making Wen Zhongyi lower his defenses, again and again.

It had always been this way, and still was. As if he was born with the ability to break through Wen Zhongyi’s resolve.

Wen Zhongyi lay on the bed, clothes rumpled beneath him, Meng Chuan’s hot breath in his ear.

It had been a long time since they’d lain side by side like this. Wen Zhongyi’s body was tense. The bitter coffee scent of pheromones clung to him, giving him nowhere to hide.

Meng Chuan lay facing him, looking harmless as he asked, “Can I hold you?”

But even if Wen Zhongyi had said no, it wouldn’t have mattered—Meng Chuan had already silently reached over and pulled him into his arms.

Wen Zhongyi said nothing.

Taking silence as permission, Meng Chuan gave a satisfied little laugh. “You agreed.”

He nuzzled the top of Wen Zhongyi’s head with his chin, then simply held him.

The room was quiet. Thick curtains shut out the wind. The ceiling light glowed dimly above them.

Wen Zhongyi gently closed his eyes. He could hear a heartbeat—uncertain if it was his or Meng Chuan’s.

His tense body slowly relaxed. Just as he thought Meng Chuan had fallen asleep, something strange brushed his thigh.

His expression changed. He tried to pull away from Meng Chuan’s embrace.

“Don’t move.” Meng Chuan’s low, hoarse voice sounded above his head.

Wen Zhongyi was trapped in his arms. He struggled, frustrated. “What do you want?”

Meng Chuan didn’t answer. His hand moved from Wen Zhongyi’s shoulder—light as a feather—across his collarbone, neck, jaw, and finally rested near his lips.

Wen Zhongyi trembled. He could sense what was about to happen and began to struggle harder.

“Meng Chuan!”

Meng Chuan grunted, tightening his arms like iron chains. “Don’t move.”

Wen Zhongyi didn’t recognize the danger in his voice. When he bent his knee to try to kick Meng Chuan away, Meng Chuan suddenly flipped on top of him, pinning one leg down with a hand while grabbing both his wrists and pressing them overhead.

“I told you not to move!”

Wen Zhongyi was trapped beneath him, breathing ragged. His usually calm face betrayed a trace of unease.

He knew he was no match for a fully conscious Meng Chuan. Forcing himself to stay calm, he said, “I’m pregnant. Don’t do anything reckless.”

Meng Chuan narrowed his eyes and smiled, lowering his body with menace. He avoided Wen Zhongyi’s stomach and whispered by his ear, “It’s safe after three months.”

Wen Zhongyi’s eyes widened. “No—mmf!”

Meng Chuan kissed him.

Unlike the last time, when his mind had been hazy, this kiss was clumsy and reckless, entirely driven by impulse. His teeth accidentally bit Wen Zhongyi, and the taste of blood quickly spread in their mouths.

Wen Zhongyi winced in pain, brows furrowing, a sheen of tears rising in his eyes.

A moment later, Meng Chuan pulled back, panting. “Sorry.”

Wen Zhongyi’s lips were slightly parted, breath in chaos, nearly suffocating. His mind went blank. He hadn’t even realized Meng Chuan had let go of his wrists.

Meng Chuan wiped the blood from his lips, then leaned in to kiss him again, muttering in frustration, “I didn’t mean to.”

Wen Zhongyi exhaled deeply. His gaze refocused. He looked at Meng Chuan and asked, “Did you forget how to kiss?”

His tongue tingled with pain. He couldn’t muster a gentle tone. The words he spoke hit Meng Chuan right in the chest.

Meng Chuan’s breath grew heavier. A dark fire stirred in his heart. He clutched Wen Zhongyi’s jaw, stared into his eyes, and said in a low voice, “Then I’ll practice until I remember.”

Wen Zhongyi felt his skin crawl under Meng Chuan’s stare. Before he could even process the meaning of that sentence, Meng Chuan lowered his head and kissed him again.

Not until Wen Zhongyi’s lips and tongue went completely numb did Meng Chuan reluctantly let him go. He pressed aggressively, “Well? Do you still think that guy’s kissing skills were better than mine?”

Wen Zhongyi: “…”

It was clearly himself, yet Meng Chuan was referring to him as ‘that guy’.

Wen Zhongyi no longer had the strength to argue. He nodded weakly, “You’re amazing, you’re amazing…”

Meng Chuan’s thumb brushed across his lips, a smug grin spreading across his face like a victor claiming his prize.

Wen Zhongyi was left breathless and limp from his kisses. Eyes closed, he tried to steady his breathing.

He had thought Meng Chuan would stop once he’d gotten his fill. But when a hand snuck under his sweater with blatant intent, Wen Zhongyi was jolted wide awake—this man was insatiable, always pushing the line.

Meng Chuan had finally found an opportunity to use the massage techniques he’d learned that day—on Wen Zhongyi.

Wen Zhongyi bit down hard on his lip, cheeks flushing red.

“Feels good?” Meng Chuan asked deliberately.

Wen Zhongyi didn’t reply. So Meng Chuan pinched lightly with his fingertips.

Wen Zhongyi jolted, immediately reaching through his sweater to press down on that hand, his breath and heartbeat pounding like drums. “Stop messing around, Meng Chuan…”

But his resistance was like a scratch through a boot. Meng Chuan grew even more enthusiastic, asking again, “Does it feel good, hm?”

Tonight, he was almost unusually assertive. Whether it was the heat cycle giving him courage, or Wen Zhongyi’s indulgence emboldening him, even he wasn’t sure.

Meng Chuan liked this feeling of control.

He didn’t mind bowing to Wen Zhongyi’s authority at other times, but in moments like these, he just wanted to see Wen Zhongyi unravel beneath him, struggling to endure.

It was in this moment that Meng Chuan suddenly realized—his desire to treat Wen Zhongyi well, his physical craving for him—wasn’t just about pheromones or lingering instincts.

It was real, present desire.

In his subconscious, he’d always seen the ‘past him’ and the ‘present him’ as two different people.

He had no memory of the past, but now, the current him had fallen for Wen Zhongyi all over again. So much so that he felt jealous of the version of himself who had once been unconditionally cherished and loved.

Wen Zhongyi was close to breaking. He didn’t even know what he’d said or when his clothes had come off.

The suffocating scent of bitter coffee pheromones stirred a primal heat in his body.

He couldn’t control it. He couldn’t resist.

Clutching Meng Chuan’s hand, his beautiful face flushed and trembling, he whispered, “…Turn off the light.”

“Don’t want to,” Meng Chuan said. “I want to look at you.”

Wen Zhongyi had no strength to get up, so he helplessly lifted an arm to shield his face. But Meng Chuan wouldn’t let him.

He grabbed Wen Zhongyi’s hands again and pinned them above his head. Then his other hand slipped downward and let out a surprised noise. “Damn—so the stuff in the novels is real.”

He looked down like he’d discovered a new continent, then picked Wen Zhongyi up so he clung to his shoulders.

Wen Zhongyi’s body felt bonelessly soft. Rationally, he wanted to escape, but as an omega, his instincts couldn’t resist the closeness of an alpha.

Meng Chuan held his waist, his sharp teeth grazing Wen Zhongyi’s neck gland. With shameless curiosity, he asked, “Where’s your reproductive cavity?”

Wen Zhongyi couldn’t speak. So Meng Chuan kept asking over and over, until Wen Zhongyi snapped and cursed without a shred of decorum, “You bastard!”

Meng Chuan had all the power, laughing lowly. “Say more—I like it.”

“…”

Mindful of the baby, Meng Chuan didn’t take things further. He laid Wen Zhongyi on his side and spooned him from behind.

The light in the room remained on, exposing every flicker of expression.

Wen Zhongyi growled, “Are you done yet?!”

“Almost, almost,” Meng Chuan hummed beside his ear, still in high spirits.

…

The room’s light stayed on for a long time.

Later, Meng Chuan carried Wen Zhongyi to wash up. Wen Zhongyi, half-lidded and worn out, muttered, “I’m going to kill you tomorrow…”

Meng Chuan, perfectly satisfied, teased with a grin, “What’s that saying again? ‘To die under the peony flower is still romantic as a ghost.’” ¹Original: “牡丹花下死，做鬼也風流” Figurative meaning: If one must die, then dying for love or beauty (especially sensual pleasure) is worth it, even if it leads to one’s downfall.

Wen Zhongyi: “…”

If he could rewind time, he would’ve walked into the bedroom, pulled out a gun, and shot that bastard right where it counted—so he’d never be “romantic” again.

But regrets were useless now. Exhausted, Wen Zhongyi fell asleep right in the bathroom.

Half-asleep, he sensed Meng Chuan’s hand creeping toward his belly again.

Wen Zhongyi slapped it away and rolled over, clutching his stomach. He quickly drifted off once more.

____

The next morning, winter sunlight filtered through the curtain’s gap, casting a bright stripe across the soft bed.

The sleeper stirred from the light, frowning slightly, about to turn over and go back to sleep—only to realize something felt off.

Wen Zhongyi opened his eyes. His vision slowly focused. At first dazed, he then looked down.

A strong, solid arm was draped across his waist. A warm palm rested over his lower abdomen, fingers twitching unconsciously.

Wen Zhongyi: “…”

Meng Chuan, fever gone, was sleeping soundly behind him.

Not only was he shamelessly hogging half the blanket, but his bare chest was plastered against Wen Zhongyi’s back. His slow, damp breaths brushed past Wen Zhongyi’s ear.

The memories of last night came flooding back. Wen Zhongyi’s teeth clenched. He abruptly threw off the covers.

Sensing movement, Meng Chuan shifted his arm to Wen Zhongyi’s chest, holding him tight. He buried his face into the back of Wen Zhongyi’s head and mumbled, “Don’t move… Sleep a little longer…”

Wen Zhongyi elbowed backward hard and snapped, “Sleep your ass!”

“Mm!” Meng Chuan groaned in pain, eyes opening, but still refusing to let go. “Morning is so beautiful, and you’re so grumpy.”

“Let go of me!”

“Nope.” Meng Chuan, shameless to the end, grabbed Wen Zhongyi’s resisting hand and sighed with pleasure, sniffing the rose scent on his skin. “Let’s sleep a bit more, it’s still early. The alarm hasn’t even gone off—”

Just as he finished speaking, the alarm clock on the nightstand burst into cheerful song.

Meng Chuan: “…”

The sound looped incessantly. No one was getting more sleep now.

He pretended to be deaf, grunted twice, and tried to fake sleep. But as he shifted, he suddenly noticed something off.

No wonder Wen Zhongyi’s ears and neck were burning red.

Meng Chuan’s eyes fell on his blushing cheeks, his throat bobbed, and he got hard again.

“…!” Wen Zhongyi’s face went through a dazzling range of expressions. From between gritted teeth came: “Let. Go.”

Let go? Or not?

Meng Chuan thought for two seconds, and chose to keep being a scoundrel.

Wen Zhongyi was too angry for words. Knowing he couldn’t overpower Meng Chuan, he flipped around, faced him—and sank his teeth hard into Meng Chuan’s shoulder.

Meng Chuan hissed in pain and finally let go. Wen Zhongyi shoved him aside with all his strength, sat up fast, yanked open the drawer, pulled out a gun, loaded it, flipped the safety—aimed—

Meng Chuan, nearly falling off the bed: “…………”

He’d forgotten about that damned gun.

Wen Zhongyi’s pajamas were a mess, and his frost-cold face still held a stubborn blush. His expression screamed execution on the spot as he growled, “Get out.”

If that gun weren’t pointed straight at his crotch, Meng Chuan might’ve said something like “Damn, that’s hot.”

But for the sake of his future happiness, he swallowed the words, raised both hands, and grinned cheekily. “Okay okay, don’t upset the baby. I’m going, I’m going.”

Then, bare-chested, barefoot, wearing only a pair of sleep shorts, he got up and headed into the bathroom.

In the bedroom, Wen Zhongyi lay back down.

He still hadn’t fully recovered.

Knowing he was in the wrong, Meng Chuan later brought Wen Zhongyi breakfast, then made a trip to the pharmacy to buy a pregnancy-safe ointment.

Wen Zhongyi lay face-down on the bed, face buried in a pillow, while Meng Chuan applied the ointment to his thighs.

“Sorry, I didn’t know your skin was so delicate,” Meng Chuan apologized with unusual sincerity, carefully applying the ointment while his eyes couldn’t help wandering.

Wen Zhongyi sensed it and warned, “If you dare touch me wrong, I’ll kill you.”

Meng Chuan had long grown immune to such threats. Grinning, he said, “We’ve already done everything. What’s a little touching?”

Wen Zhongyi made to get up. “You dare—!”

Meng Chuan quickly pinned him back down. “I don’t dare, I don’t dare. Just stay still—I’m not done yet.”

Wen Zhongyi stayed tense, but Meng Chuan, surprisingly, behaved himself and didn’t make any moves.

A few minutes later, Meng Chuan packed up the ointment. “Okay, just lie there and let it air out.”

Wen Zhongyi, face turned sideways, grunted a response, then stretched out a hand. “Get out.”

“So heartless.” Meng Chuan wiped his hands with a tissue. “You pull up your pants and don’t recognize me now?”

Reality: Wen Zhongyi’s pajama pants were still down to his knees, white thighs fully exposed.

Meng Chuan couldn’t help smirking. He took the chance to give his butt a playful slap—then bolted under Wen Zhongyi’s furious curses.

Because of all Meng Chuan’s outrageous antics, Wen Zhongyi didn’t so much as look at him the rest of the morning.

Meng Chuan’s fever had subsided, but he was still a little off—instinctively clinging to Wen Zhongyi.

Whenever Wen Zhongyi snapped at him, he’d pout. That roguishly handsome face would immediately twist into a crybaby expression, even though his eyes sparkled with laughter.

“I’ve had enough of you, Meng Chuan,” Wen Zhongyi said through clenched teeth. He desperately wanted to punch that face.

“I just feel awful, don’t be so mean.” Meng Chuan shamelessly scooted closer. “Anyway, I’m going on a business trip this afternoon. You won’t see me for four or five days—won’t even get the chance to be annoyed.”

So he knew he was annoying. Wen Zhongyi sneered. “And you still dare travel during your heat?”

Meng Chuan sighed. “Can’t help it. It’s a huge project—I can’t just hand it over.”

Given the importance of a project he had to handle personally, Wen Zhongyi didn’t say more.

Meng Chuan, worried no one would be there to look after Wen Zhongyi while he was gone, wanted to hire someone to stay with him. Wen Zhongyi rejected the idea.

That afternoon, as Meng Chuan packed his suitcase—it was full of Wen Zhongyi’s clothes.

Wen Zhongyi saw and his temple twitched. “You’re taking all of that—what am I supposed to wear?”

“Wear mine. Or I’ll have someone deliver you a few new ones.” Meng Chuan raised an eyebrow.

“…!” Wen Zhongyi clenched his teeth, itching to rip those smug brows off his face.

Half an hour later, the secretary arrived right on time.

Wen Zhongyi leaned against the bedroom doorway, hands in his pockets, clearly not planning to see him off.

Meng Chuan had already walked out the door—then suddenly turned back.

Wen Zhongyi asked, “Forget something?”

Without a word, Meng Chuan stepped forward and pulled him into a hug.

Wen Zhongyi froze, hands still in his pockets, caught in a firm, wordless embrace.

Meng Chuan buried his face into Wen Zhongyi’s neck, inhaled deeply, then tilted his head to kiss his earlobe gently. With a smile, he whispered, “Be good at home. Wait for me to come back.”

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  Original: “牡丹花下死，做鬼也風流” Figurative meaning: If one must die, then dying for love or beauty (especially sensual pleasure) is worth it, even if it leads to one’s downfall.